


Draco Finds Out Golf Was The Answer

by IzzyShep



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Finding Your Way Home, Golf, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzyShep/pseuds/IzzyShep
Summary: When you're rejected by the entire wizarding world, what do you do? Get the heck out of England and find some fun in the sun. Interestingly, Draco also learns that he's pretty damn good at golf... and that you can actually go home again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot. Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Oh, and not epilogue compliant.

Draco stretched out his legs and admired himself. Over the past year or so, he’d actually acquired some colour, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the look of his lightly golden skin… not that anyone would in any way define him as tanned, but he would no longer be mistaken for a ghost. It turns out that the legendary Malfoy pallor was largely due to spending generations living on a cool, dim island rather than a genetic inability to produce melanin. In his case, his excessively wan appearance was the result of far too many years in a dingy, humid Scottish Castle.

He winced a little and tried to dismiss thoughts of the past as quickly as possible. He didn’t particularly like to think of his previous life, and much preferred to focus on the present or the future. Fortunately for him, most of the wizarding world had rejected him after the end of the war and the trials which followed because he’d managed to avoid Azkaban through the intercession of Harry Potter, of all people. So, he was rejected by the winning side for having been a Death Eater and by the losing side, for not having been devoted enough to the cause. Not that he would have wanted to stay. It was too wretched to even consider, now that his mother had gone full Havisham (to borrow a character from one of those muggle books he’d read), and now spent every day wandering around their decrepit, moldering manor pining after the life she’d lost.

No. Draco was having none of that. By a stroke of luck, Harry’s intercession had ensured he still had access to his share of the hereditary trust funds he was allocated through his mother’s side of the family, and there was more than enough to finance him for the rest of his life. He seriously doubted Harry had any idea how much money they had managed to preserve in the offshore accounts, but that was none of his concern. From now on he was simply enjoying the sun and the beautiful, tanned boys and girls he'd been able to find everywhere from Cyprus to his current location, the Costa Del Sol.

He peered over his sunglasses at his companion, Blaise, who’d fallen asleep in the warm, Spanish afternoon breeze. Blaise had been kind enough to host him over the past couple of months at his family’s homes that dotted the western Mediterranean. The Zabinis were probably the only family he knew from his previous life who’d managed to avoid serious repercussions from the war, and who would still associate with him. Of course, there was also the fact that Blaise was a nicely skilled lover, perpetually interested in bedding Draco, yet not overly demanding. He really couldn’t have fared better if he’d actually planned it.

He was slowly deliberating whether he should get up and refill his glass of wine or wait another few minutes until one of the house elves came by to check on them when he was nearly torpedoed by a small, white projectile.

His surprised yelp woke Blaise who turned to see Draco grimly holding a little ball.

“What is this?” Draco asked in an accusatory tone.

“It’s a golf ball, Malfoy.” Blaise exhaled, having to explain yet another muggle fact to his horribly uneducated friend.

“Golf.”

“Yes, Draco. _Merlin_. I understand that your family segregated itself from the muggle world, but _for fucks’s sake_ , we went to school in _Scotland_. You would think you’d have come across one of those at some point.” Blaise found Draco’s complete lack of awareness of muggle culture completely baffling, bordering on tragic. He looked like a perfectly normal person, but then he’d be caught acting as if he’d been trapped in a basement his entire life. That thought shot Blaise with guilt because the fact was Draco had been trapped in the equivalent of a basement for his life before the war. His lunatic family so completely segregated themselves from the larger world it bordered on abuse. He often wondered if that was the factor that made Harry reach out on Draco’s behalf after the war. Harry knew what it was to be a child suffering at the hands of damaged adults. Before he dove too deeply in the maudlin past, Blaise shoved the thought aside, noting that despite all that had happened Draco seemed to be recovering nicely. More than nicely, in fact.

Draco played with the ball, rubbing his thumb over the dimpled surface. “So, what do you do with it?”

“You play golf.” Blaise answered, then continued knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to stop there. Despite Draco’s front of indifference he was actually perpetually interested, in everything. This, too, was probably the result of being walled off from so much for so long. “It’s an outdoor game with long clubs and you hit the ball down stretches of lawn until you can deposit it into a little cup that’s dug into a green.”

Draco looked curious and a little confused. “Well, how on earth did it end up here? How far off course could the players be?”

“They’re very long stretches of lawn. Hundreds of meters. The ball’s hit up in the air at first, then rolled along the lawn when you’re close to the cup. It’s easy to hit the ball fairly far off course.”

Draco inspected the ball a little further, considering the idea, and Blaise realized golf was going to be on their agenda one day very soon.

“If you like, I could take you to the course, and you could try it out.” Blaise offered. “In fact, you might enjoy it. The dress is likely your style.”

 

\-------^^^^-------

 

Two days later, Draco found himself kitted out in a fresh pair of light trousers and a “golf” shirt. Blaise had also pulled together the remaining needed accessories, shoes, a glove, a hat and visor (not knowing which Draco would prefer as he tended to be sensitive about his hair), sunglasses, and a set of “golf clubs.” The clubs were about a dozen long-handled items which had small, bladed or clubbed heads set at slightly different angles. Blaise had explained that the changes in angle were meant to allow the player to hit the ball at different lengths by altering the ball’s trajectory through the air. Blaise had given him a few quick lessons in how to hit the ball, which involved a movement unlike any he had done before. The only consolation he took was that the “swing” used to hit the ball required a controlled, but loose and fluid movement, which reminded him slightly of dueling.

When they arrived at the club a gentleman took their bags of clubs, and Blaise checked them in at a desk in the small house on the grounds. The club had locker rooms for the players which Draco presumed allowed those engaging in play to change into more appropriate attire should they want to remain for an informal meal or drink afterward.

Once they were prepared, Blaise walked him back outside and handed him a little card that had a map of the course and a place for scoring. Draco noted that they’d be taking some kind of small vehicle around with them, as their bags were attached to the rear of said vehicle.

“We ride in this?” Draco asked, somewhat incredulous.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t we walk? It’s rather… silly looking, isn’t it?”

Blaise let out a little laugh, “I suppose it’s kind of silly looking. We could walk, but here most people do it this way. Come on, let’s go get a little practice before we tee off.”

Blaise took him to a place where there were people lined up, repeatedly hitting the little golf balls off of small wooden picks or off the grass. Draco wondered if it wasn’t a bit repetitive, doing the same thing over and over again. Then he looked around at the other players. There were a few older men, but there was also a nice contingent of tanned, younger men, as well. They did look nice in their well fitted trousers… and there was a certain languid appeal to the way they looked swinging the club, a fluid twist of the torso, a shift of the hips, a turn of the shoulders. One or two of them looked very appealing, indeed. Maybe this wouldn’t be a waste of an afternoon.

“Okay, Malfoy, this way.” Blaise steered him toward a spot in the line and set him up.

“Now, you do it like I showed you yesterday. Why don’t you start with this one,” he said, pulling out the club marked with a little 9 on the blade. “Just give it an easy swing and try to hit the back of the ball with the center of the blade, like the others are doing.”

Draco looked around at the other players, pulling their clubs back, twisting their shoulders and hips and then shifting their hips around with their shoulders and arms following until the motion came to rest at the other end of the arc. It was almost metronomic, the repetitive nature of it. He bent his knees just a little, pulled his own arms and shoulders back, twisting at the waist and letting his wrist break a little remembering the feel of loose but controlled, and then shifted, starting with a release of his hips forward, keeping his head in place and in line with the ball.

Then he hit it. He hit the ball and it actually flew. It was surprising, the feel and sound of it when it made contact with the blade. It was almost as if he could feel the material of the ball slightly compress against the face of the club before it shot off into the sky. Then it landed. It seemed to have travelled over 100 meters, maybe 120 or so.

“Well.” Blaise looked a little startled. “That’s not bad. Really, Drac, you don’t look like you've never done this before.”

Draco felt ridiculously pleased that he’d managed to hit a small, white ball with a long stick to the desired location. It was mad, really, that a grown man could be so satisfied by a completely useless maneuver, but there he was, beaming like a child who’d won a prize at a fair.

“That was good?” He said, knowing full well that it was given Blaise’s reaction.

“Yes. Quite.” Blaise took out another one of the clubs. Blaise handed Draco the club with the big, rounded back and the longest shaft, then he set the ball up on the little peg.

“Okay, that’s the driver. That’s the one you’ll use for your first stroke on the longer holes. You tee it up, balancing the ball on the top of this little tee at a height that will allow you to hit the ball off the center of the club face.”

Blaise then set Draco up in a stance so that the ball was a little further toward his front foot than the last time.

Draco gave it another go, but this time the ball rocketed to the right. “Oh.” He let out a little groan of disappointment.

“Don’t worry. Try again.”

Draco teed up the ball like Blaise had shown him, moved to the correct stance, and tried again. This time he heard the sound of the ball hitting the center of the club face and felt the sensation he’d felt before. That feel of the club compressing the ball just as it made contact. There was something about it that felt a tiny bit like the sensation when you execute a spell just the right way, with just the right flick of the wrist. It was so satisfying.

They practiced a bit more, hitting the ball off the tee with the driver or a couple of the clubs called “woods,” and then off the grass with the other clubs, which Draco now knew were called “irons.” It was interestingly systematic, the way the clubs worked.

After a little while, Blaise took them up to the tee box, the area where they would start their first hole. Blaise explained to him how the little map on the score card worked, and how he would have to decide on each hole what club he wanted to use to tee off, which club for the second or third strokes and then that the different holes had different expected outcomes. Shorter length holes were given fewer strokes, and longer holes, more strokes. All together, they were expected to use 72 strokes to complete all 18 holes.

Draco looked around and set up his ball for his first stroke. He took a couple of practice swings, got himself into his stance and took a swing. The ball simply took off, shooting out off the tee and then rising and rising further into the air. It was a little like a snitch without wings, and he had hit it. He’d made this surprising thing happen. For a moment it was as if the ball was going to head off into the clouds, but then it began its arc downward landing in the closely cut lawn ahead, and bouncing and rolling gently forward for several meters more.

Draco turned and smiled at Blaise. “Maybe the muggles have something here.”

Blaise's sighed and shook his head. It was a good thing Draco had plenty of funds, because he had a strong feeling he’d be spending many hours chasing balls around fairways and greens from now on.

 

\------^^^^-----

 

Eight months after that first afternoon, Draco had managed to enter into the qualifier for the Alps Tour. It wasn’t the European Tour, and that would suit Draco perfectly. If he managed to make it he could play without attracting too much attention, and it necessitated moving from place to place… no attachments. He’d surprised everyone at how quickly he took to the game, but the truth was it appealed to nearly every part of him. The rules and order, the attire, and the men. After the first round all those months ago he and Blaise had enjoyed a nice post-round shag in the club showers, and Draco found himself often spotting out a willing partner on the course, on the range, or in the clubhouse. There was just something about the pert arses, trim waists and squared shoulders that appealed. At the same time it allowed him to retain his preferred detachment because muggles were significantly more hung up about sexuality than wizards, and most of the men were extremely cautious about sharing their sexual preferences with anyone other than their partners. It struck Draco as ludicrous, but if there was one thing he understood it was the pernicious tenacity of senseless custom, and since he had no intention of making any of these liaisons permanent, secrecy was something he could accommodate.

Blaise was no longer in the picture, having left Spain a few months earlier for Pansy’s wedding and then electing to stay for some young Scot he met at the event. Fortunately, he’d been happy to allow Draco to extend his stay as long as he wished. In fact, Draco’s residence turned out to be handy, as he was able to help monitor some work being done on the residence and grounds. At the same time, Draco had been able to spend his days playing golf and developing some contacts. All in all, things seemed to be working out perfectly.

  
The week of of the tournament Draco arrived at the hosting resort early, wanting to ease into the competition and get a feel for the course. He’d earned a bit of a reputation at his own club for his cool demeanor, so much so that they’d started selling him “hielo.” He smirked to himself thinking that the ones he’d shagged definitely did not call him that, but that was a different sport entirely.

When he walked into the locker room his gut clenched. It could not be, not possibly… _No_ … But, the shape of him and the nest of black, messy hair… It was impossible, _absurd_. Harry had married Ginny and become an auror, and there was no conceivable way. His mind was simply playing tricks on him.

Then the man turned, and to Draco’s immense relief, he was not Harry. Yes, there was a very strong resemblance, but this man had slightly rounder features and did not have Harry’s luminous green eyes. Just brown… nice, easy brown eyes. Draco breathed and felt his heart start to slow a little. It was absurd that he’d had this kind of reaction, but it happened nearly every time. Ever since that first meeting in Madam Malkin’s he’d felt a horrid tension between hating Harry and never, ever wanting him in his sight, and desperately wanting Harry to tell him that there was nothing in the world he wished more than to spend every waking minute by his side. It had been the absolute bane of his existence throughout his years at school, and was only made worse after the trials because Harry’d … Draco just pushed the thought out of his mind. He’d left England for a reason, and now he had a job to do. He wasn’t going back and he wasn’t going to have to deal with that again.

Draco shook off his thoughts of the past and focused on the present. He’d get himself ready and get outside for a practice round, and that would be that. Of course, when he eventually made his way to the first tee box he found that he’d been placed in a foursome with “Not-Harry.”

“Hello, I’m Gavin Kelly.” Not-Harry introduced himself with an interesting accent.

“Draco Malfoy.” Draco nodded and shook the hand that Not-Harry had offered him.

“You’re English” Not-Harry observed.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I’m from New Zealand.” Not-Harry offered, “but I was at school in the states for a couple of years. Didn’t really like it, though, not really my type of place. I decided to try make a go of this. See a bit of the world. So, here I am.”

“Indeed.” Draco responded. It seemed Not-Harry (aka Gavin) might be a bit of a talker. Draco wasn’t really partial to conversation during play and he had a fair bit of work to do in advance of the tournament, but perhaps this was just a pre-round kind of thing. He hoped so.

“So, how’d you come here?” Not-Harry asked.

“Mmm…” Draco wondered how much to share, “I’ve been living at a friend’s place in Spain for the better part of a year, and decided to see if I could make a go of it.”

“That’s casual.”

“I suppose”

“Been playing long?”

Draco didn’t particularly want to answer that question. He knew that the speed with which he’d taken to the game was highly unusual and the kind of thing that could arouse suspicion. He tended to blur that part of his history a bit, along with the rest of it.

“I committed to it seriously over the last year.” That was close enough to the truth.

“Oh, well good luck then.” Not-Harry/Gavin responded, seeming a little put out.

“And to you.” Draco replied.

With that, and a few more introductions, their foursome got to it.

Not-Harry was actually a good player, and over the round Draco found him companionable in a not too intrusive kind of way. He also had a slightly sarcastic sense of humor which suited Draco. By the end of the afternoon, Draco was pleased that he’d both gotten a good sense of how the course would play that week, and that Not-Harry/Gavin might be someone worth knowing if they both succeeded in earning a place on the tour.

“You up for a drink after?” Not-Harry asked as they got to the 18th tee box.

“Why not?” Draco accepted the offer.

When they showered and changed, Draco was also pleased to see that Not-Harry/Gavin was also not unpleasant to look at. In particular, Not-Harry had a very nice, rounded ass, one which Draco would happily dive into if given the chance. He’d have to see about that.

Once at the bar they slid into conversation. Draco had become an expert over the past couple of years at talking without saying much of anything, although maybe that particular skill had been developed years earlier. He never really had a reason to give anyone any deep insight into his thoughts. In his experience, openness was generally a risky proposition. When people didn’t know you, they didn’t know how to hurt you, either.

Draco found he was enjoying himself. Gavin/Not-Harry was easy to converse with, and didn’t probe too deeply. He also made most of the conversation, which was handy as Draco’s knowledge of the muggle world, though growing, was still strangely thin.

“So, are you staying on property?” Gavin/Not-Harry asked.

“Ummm… I have one of the villas.”

“Oh, posh.”

“Not particularly.” Draco responded, prompting a laugh and a shake of the head from Gavin/Not-Harry. Draco watched him, wondering if he might be interested in a shag when Not-Harry suggested another drink and left to round something up from the bar.

When Not-Harry returned, Draco noticed he brushed his waist lightly. It was the kind of move that could be knocked off as nothing, or taken something depending upon your state of mind and interest. Draco watched Not-Harry take a drink of his whiskey, and the way he was lightly stroking the rim of the glass with his finger.

“The villa rooms, are they comfortable?” Not-Harry/Gavin asked holding his gaze.

Oh, that’s not subtle. Draco thought. Yes, Not-Harry was definitely up for a shag.

“Well, I could give you a tour, if you’re interested.” Draco held his gaze, telegraphing an agreed intent.

Not-Harry smiled, “That’d be nice. Who knows, I might decide I like what I see.”

Fifteen minutes later, Draco had hooked his index finger around Not-Harry’s waistband and was pulling him into his room.

“Would you like the tour now, or later?” Draco asked while Not-Harry began to unbutton his shirt.

“It seems you’re a little busy at the moment, but perhaps after you’ve finished what you have going?” Not-Harry responded.

Draco brushed his hand over Not-Harry’s fly and could feel he was getting nice and stiff. He pulled off Not-Harry’s shirt and began to undo his belt.

“Don’t I get a kiss first?” Not-Harry gave him a teasing look which Draco hoped boded well for what was to come.

Draco indulged him, threading his available hand into his mess of Not-Harry hair and pulling him forward into a slowly unwinding kiss. Gavin parted his lips, inviting Draco’s tongue into his mouth where it found a willing playmate. Gavin’s hands slipped into Draco’s now opened shirt, slowly circling his nipples with his fingertips. Draco undid Gavin’s fly and slipped his hand into his pants, stroking his firm, warm and pleasantly silky cock as Gavin pressed in to him, savoring the pressure.

Draco pulled away, and looked into Gavin’s warm, brown and very much Not-Harry eyes and smiled. This would do very well, indeed.

They slid the rest of their clothes off, and landed on Draco’s bed, making good use of the full expanse of the king sized mattress. Draco positioned himself on top, and Gavin shifted himself, moving his knees up around Draco’s waist and pressing his cock hard against Draco’s, encouraging him to build a rhythm between them. Draco reached around Gavin’s back and trailed his hand down over one of Gavin’s deliciously round cheeks. Gavin responded with a moan and a deeper kiss, and Draco began to explore his arse with his fingers.

“Yes, please.” Gavin whispered into Draco’s ear, which he had started nibbling a short time earlier. “I’d like that.”

Draco suddenly realized he didn’t have any muggle material in reach and wondered if he’d be able to summon the lube and condoms from the other room without Gavin noticing. He didn’t particularly want to get up, but he also didn’t want Gavin to see a handful of inanimate objects flying across the room of their own accord. He decided to try for distraction. He quickly moved down to Gavin’s neck offering up a quiet set of “ _accio_ ” charms then moved back up to kiss his eyelids in time to ensure he wasn’t actually looking when the requested items came flying across the bedroom.

He rocked back on his heels with must have been a smile of some kind on his face.

“You look pleased with yourself.” Gavin said, to which Draco held up the tube of lubricant.

“Are you interested? Because I would really love to get inside your beautiful arse.”

“Why, yes. I was hoping you’d ask.” Gavin replied with the most delightful, school-boy grin on his face.

And, it was a beautiful arse, indeed. Gavin was definitely not a virgin, and took to fucking Draco with gusto. Draco dove in again and again, and Gavin responded with zeal, opening himself up and rocking into every thrust, savoring Draco’s full length each time. His groans of pleasure were full, deep purrs that rose to growls, and they made Draco feel a feline kind of power which spurred him on. As he felt Gavin’s pleasure building, he reached down and gently stroked Gavin’s cock from base to tip with just the tips of his fingers. Gavin groaned the most delightful, helpless sounding whimper and pushed his head back exposing his neck to Draco, who leaned down to take a soft bite. Gavin drove himself into Draco’s hand, and gripped Draco’s back and arse firmly, pulling him tight.

Draco drove him further, watching Gavin arc and and twist in pleasure beneath him, his tanned skin glistening from the effort. Finally he was pushed to the edge, and as Gavin came Draco fell into himself, thrusting into Gavin's contractions, existing only in sensation, until he was lost to his own pleasure and felt nothing but the thrill of his own orgasm filling Gavin’s still shuddering arse.

When Draco regained his sense of place he found himself wrapped up in Gavin, who was gently tracing patterns on his back and along his arm.

“You’re very quiet.” Gavin commented.

“Oh, were you looking for conversation?” Draco asked.

“No” Gavin laughed, “I meant during. You make so little sound. It’s…. unusual.”

“Oh.” Draco wondered if that was always the case or just this time. No one had ever commented on it before.

“It’s okay. I mean… it was great… just unusual.”  
  
Draco thought about it, and then offered, “I rather like the sounds you make.”

Gavin laughed, “Well, I have a feeling I was vocal enough for both of us. You were really…. It was very good.”

“Mmm…” Draco concurred.

“So, do you want to play again tomorrow?” Gavin asked.

“Do you mean on the course or this?”

“Maybe both. They say practice makes perfect.”

Draco groaned, but knew he’d definitely be doing both.

 

\------^^^^------

 

A small packet landed on Harry Potter’s desk.

“What’s this?” Harry asked.

“Granger asked me to give it to you. Said you wanted to be kept in the loop as to Malfoy’s whereabouts.” The clerk responded.

“Thank you.” Harry took a look over the contents and smiled and then set the papers aside. It seemed Draco had graduated from his quest to fuck every attractive man within 100 clicks of the Mediterranean and moved on to slightly more productive pursuits. He shook his head and hoped Draco had enough sunscreen.

 

\------^^^^------

 

Draco’s week turned out to be very productive on all fronts. Both he and Gavin managed to play well enough to more forward and earn spots on the tour, and Draco found he was an excellent companion in bed, as well. In the months that followed Draco played tournaments across Europe and in Morocco as well, and regularly found himself in the company of Gavin Kelly, who he had long since ceased to think of as Not-Harry. They had a clear preference for one another, but when they were apart they had no claim on each other, and Draco didn’t feel any concern when he took someone else to bed.

After his first year on tour, Draco was playing well enough to attract some attention from sponsors. He wasn’t making money, exactly, but was playing well enough that he was earning some exemptions into better events and could finance some support in the form of a permanent caddy, Stan, who offered good advice on course and kept his thoughts to himself off. Eventually, his manager called with an opportunity, a Challenge tour event was being held in England and there was a spot for him on exemption if he wanted it.

He wasn’t sure. He’d avoided the country for more than three years and he wasn’t keen to return. On the other hand, it would make his sponsors happy, and it would improve his prospects for the Challenge tour which could be an opportunity to travel further afield. He decided to go. It was only one extended weekend. He’d be on and off that island before he knew it.

Six months later, he found himself stepping off an airplane at Heathrow. He’d long since stopped using magical forms of transportation. They were just too difficult to explain to muggles, and he had plenty of money to allow him to travel in the upper class accommodations. He sat in the hired car and looked out the window as the driver steered along the motorway. The damp, grey sky brought back so many memories, very few of them pleasant. It was amazing, really, that a color and texture could provoke such a reaction, but there it was.

They’d booked rooms at the resort for the tournament, and when Draco had settled in he considered calling Gavin. He didn’t really know why, just an urge for a companionable voice, he supposed. Instead he decided to head to the restaurant for dinner. Perhaps someone he’d run into someone he knew.

He checked in with the maitre’d and said some quick hello’s to a couple of players he knew slightly. Then he slid up to the bar to order a drink. Suddenly, he noticed a familiar form. Gavin had come and was just down the bar from him, but looking in the other direction, toward the door. He must have missed seeing him when he came in from the direction of the restaurant.

He moved down the bar and placed a hand on the hollow of Gavin’s back, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Gavin turned around and suddenly, time stopped. It wasn’t Gavin. Not only was it not Gavin, it was Harry. Harry Potter was inches from Draco’s face. He had just whispered in Harry’s ear something meant for a very different man. A man who was Not-Harry.

Draco didn’t speak. He just looked at Harry. Harry Potter, who had tormented him for years, who had then turned around and saved his life. Harry Potter, who behind his mother and his memories was a chief reason for his self-imposed exile. That Harry Potter was standing before him with a somewhat incredulous look on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Draco surprised himself by being the first to speak.

Harry looked like he was trying to decide the answer to that question at that very moment. “I…" He was struggling for a reasonable reason for his presence. “I heard that you’d be here, and wanted to see how you’re doing.” Harry answered.

“You wanted to see how I’m doing?” Draco repeated, trying to bring some sense to the answer. “We’re not mates, Harry.”

“I know…” Harry struggled for an answer. “I just. I wanted to see.”

Draco scanned Harry’s face, trying again to make sense of this. Strangely, he didn’t feel the old panic and disturbance that he used to feel in Harry’s presence, just a calm wondering. What was Harry doing here?

“I’m sorry.” Harry added and then began to turn.

“No.” Draco reached out an held on to Harry. Suddenly, it was very important that Harry not leave. After spending years avoiding contact, now that he was here Draco couldn’t let him leave. Harry had come looking for him. Harry had some reason for that, and Draco wasn’t going to let him leave until he knew.

“No” Draco said. “Why don’t you join me for dinner. I was just about to eat.”

Harry looked around at the crowd of people, none of which he knew. “Okay, yes, thank you.”

It was only a moment later that Draco and Harry were seated at a table. Aside from their orders they sat in silence, but Draco didn’t mind. He felt that they needed it in some way, that they needed to acclimate themselves to one another before beginning anything.

“How’s your mother?” Harry asked.

Draco winced, “I’m not sure, you’d probably know more than I. We don’t keep in touch.”

“Oh.” Harry answered opening another gap between them.

“How’s Ginny?” Draco asked.

“Fine, I think. We’re not… we didn’t marry… we broke up.” Harry explained.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was for the best. We wouldn’t have been happy.” Harry didn’t go further, but kind of circled with his hands in an expression that may have meant ‘ _because of everything,’_ Draco had a slight feeling he knew what he meant. After all, ‘ _because of everything_ ’ was the most concise reason for why he left.

“You look good.” Harry opened again. “You seem to be doing well.”

Draco looked around, “After a manner of speaking. I’m basically a muggle now.” Then he started to laugh and noticed Harry gaping at him. He realized then that Harry had probably never seen him laugh except as a response to pain or cruelty. Then, inexplicably, he nearly started to cry.

Harry reached and took Draco’s hand “I know.” He said, barely more than a whisper.

“How can you possibly?” Draco looked at him, into those impossibly green eyes, which now looked like some kind of exotic sea of an indescribable depth.

Harry shrugged, not knowing how to put it into words, “It’s just good to see you happy.”

Then Draco gripped Harry’s hand harder and began to silently cry. Tears were starting to escape from his eyes and he looked up to see Harry doing the same. They were sitting there, like two old fools, veterans of some long ago war, realizing how futile and senseless it had all been. Everything, from the very beginning, but mostly that they’d been set on a path to hate one another when that had been the exact opposite of what either of them would have wanted, if they had only known.

Draco noticed the waiter coming toward the table and released Harry’s hand so that he could clear his face and make himself presentable again. The waiter gave them the overview of the menu and made recommendations, and they ordered, with Draco selecting a wine to accompany the meal. Afterward, they walked around the resort a little continuing their conversation. Draco relayed what he knew of Pansy, Blaise and the others, and Harry updated Draco on Hermione, Ron and the remainder of the Weasleys.

Finally, it was time for the evening to be over.

“Would you like to come tomorrow?” Draco asked, wondering if this was the end of things or the beginning.

“I can’t tomorrow, but Thursday and the weekend. I’d like to come… if that’s okay with you… I’d like to see you play.”

“Yes,” Draco smiled thinking that Harry always did bring out his competitive side, and might be good luck, “That’d be good.”

 

\------^^^^------

 

Harry did come on Thursday and the day after, and he was good luck because Draco made the cut for the weekend. Harry followed his group on Saturday, and even though it wasn’t a great day for Draco, his spirits were lifted by having Harry in the gallery. On Sunday, Harry came again. Draco knew he wouldn’t win, but he was hoping to place well enough to gain some important points. It was close, and the weather turned unpleasant with a cold rain setting in during the afternoon, but when he looked out at the spectators Harry was still there, solidly standing with him for a reason Draco understood but couldn’t put into words.

After the 18th hole he found Harry, wet and cold, but still there for him. He walked up to him and took his icy hands in his.

“You’re warm.” Harry said.

“I know.” Draco answered.

“I wouldn’t have expected.”

“No one does.” Draco smiled and Harry flushed a little.

“How’d you do?” Harry asked, not knowing how these things worked.

“Well enough. I accomplished what I needed to, I think.” Draco looked at Harry, “You look like you need to warm up. Do you want to change and meet me for dinner? I still have a couple of things to do.”

“Yes,” Harry chattered, “I’ll see you in an hour?”

Draco nodded. That would do just fine.

 

\------^^^^------

 

That evening at dinner, Draco thought over the events of the past week, looking at Harry’s face and wondering how they had suddenly become… what was it? Friends? That didn’t seem quite right, but he wasn’t sure what to call them.

He found himself laughing as he relayed stories from his days on tour and Harry shared stories from the Aurors’ Service and the bizarre behavior of people wanting to be near the ‘Savior of the Wizarding World.’ Then, suddenly, dinner was over and Draco didn’t want to see Harry go. He’d spent five days with Harry after spending four years avoiding him, and now he didn’t want to see him go.

He looked at Harry and didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. They were really just three words, but he couldn’t force them out.

Harry looked at him and seemed to know what he was thinking. He just put his hand out and said one word, “Yes.”

Draco’s eyebrows popped up at that, “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Am I wrong?” Harry asked.

“No.” Draco had to respond.

When they got to Draco’s room Draco turned to Harry, “Are you sure?”

“Are you?” Harry asked.

“Fair point…. Since when did you become this slippery?” Draco asked.

“Always was. Everyone just focused on the earnestness.”

“Let’s not do that.” Draco responded, his voice dropping as he began to think of what might come next.

Then they stopped talking as Draco raised his hand to Harry’s face, tracing along his cheek with his thumb. Harry reached for Draco and began pulling his shirt loose. In a moment, Draco had pulled Harry into a kiss, tickling Harry’s lips with his tongue and teasing his mouth open. He tasted so good, better than he ever would have guessed, fresh and warm and a little sweet from the dessert with a flash of the wine Draco had ordered.

“Harry” Draco murmured. “Harry." He wanted to say his name over and over again. It was the name he always wanted to say and never could say out loud.

He pulled his shirt off and Harry’s, too, and pulled them both on to the bed. He paused to look at Harry, slowly drawing a line from Harry’s chin, down his neck, across his collar bone and down his chest. He was more defined and muscular than Draco remembered. Adulthood and Auror training had done Harry well.

Draco reached up to take Harry's glasses off. “Can I?” He asked.

“Actually, can we leave them on?” Harry countered, beginning to blush. “My eyesight’s shite, and I’d like to see.. I’d like to see you.”

Now Draco was blushing, and his heart was starting to race. Merlin, this was the most exquisite torture he’d ever encountered. He wanted Harry, entirely, right now, but also didn’t want any of it to come to an end. He decided to opt for slow, beautiful torture instead of potential lasting regret.

He nodded at Harry and gently cupped his hand behind Harry’s head, bringing him in for a kiss again. He moved as slow as he possibly could, letting each sensation last as long as possible before moving on to the next.

Harry leaned back and pulled Draco on top of him. Draco looked down into Harry’s eyes and thought again how remarkable they were. They were a color that should be piercing, but instead they just drew him in, deeper and deeper. Harry began working Draco’s pants to pull them off while kicking off his own shoes. In a moment, he had them slipped past Draco’s arse and was hooking his foot over them to pull them down the rest of the way. A few moments after that, he’d been relieved of the rest of his clothing, as well.

They took their time with each other, having waited years for this it seemed. Harry’s hands were broad and firm and felt well used, but weren’t rough. Draco thought they felt like the hands of someone who lived in the world, who dove in and didn’t hang back. His own were calloused from golf, but before that they’d been smooth and untouched.

Harry looked up at Draco as Draco moved slowly down the length of him. Circling his nipple with his tongue, gliding his fingers gently over his cock and cradling his balls. Draco was there, but seemed so ethereal at the same time. Like a warm, present angel with a very, very dirty mind. Thoughts of what they could do together shot through Harry, and he thought he might come from the very thought of it.

As he felt Draco take him in his mouth, warm and wet, he was overcome by the desire to have Draco inside him. He didn’t want to wait. He just wanted to be filled up, to be joined.

“Draco.” He called, “Draco. Please.”

Draco looked up, worried he’d done something wrong.

“I want you to fuck me. I need it. Please.”

Draco smiled and kissed Harry fully, “Yes. _That_ I would be happy to do.”

When Draco sowed himself inside Harry he took his time. He wanted Harry to feel every movement, every piece of his intention. He wanted to share everything he could with the one person he trusted to know him. Harry knew his past, he felt it, and he wasn’t afraid. He watched Harry open himself further and further to his thrusts. Harry’s eyes never left him, they just pulled him further and further in, reassuring him, holding him, weaving them together.

Harry began to finish himself off, and Draco moved forward to kiss him.

“Keep going, Draco… more… please more…”

And then Draco let go. He heard his own voice, calling out. Calling Harry’s name and groaning long and hard with the pleasure of it. He let the sound of their joining fill him, drive him further and further into the moment. He felt Harry’s slick cum burst up on to him, and it was a tonic to the intense heat. He buried himself deeper and deeper, reaching toward some peak he knew was just within reach, if he could just find it.

Then it came. He came, flooding into Harry, bursting open to him with a roar.

His head dropped, and he felt Harry’s hands circle his head and his lips kiss his forehead. He couldn’t hold himself up any longer and collapsed down into Harry’s embrace.

They said nothing, and Draco just lay there letting Harry slowly trail his fingers through his damp hair. The air felt cool on his back and he could still feel Harry’s slick cum between them. He heard Harry’s heartbeat, and his own. He didn’t want to speak. He didn’t want there to be another moment but this one. He just wanted this.

Eventually they moved a little and Harry cast a quick ‘ _scourgify_ ’ which made Draco laugh.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“Muggles don’t do that. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Oh…” Harry was going to ask, but Draco finished for him.

“We towel off, or take a shower…”

“We?” Harry asked.

“I told you… It’s been a long time.”

“It has” Harry thought so, too.

 

\------^^^^------

 

In the morning Draco had to leave. “Do you have a phone? I don’t owl any more.”

“I, oh…” Harry thought, “I can get one. I’ll get one.”

Draco leaned over and kissed him, and stuck with it while Harry kissed back.

When it was time to go he gave Harry his number and explained to him how to use the phone. “If you run into trouble, you can always ask someone in Muggle affairs, right?”

“Right.” Harry looked at him, feeling very much like he might not see Draco again, and hoping with every bit of himself that he would.

Draco turned to him, “Get one today and call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” Harry said, and Draco leaned down very close to him.

“I may be leaving today, but I’m not going anywhere, Harry Potter…. Now that I’ve got you, I aim to keep you.”

 

\------^^^^-------

 

Later that day Draco placed a call.

“Hey there.” Gavin’s voice rang across the line. “So, how’d you do?”

“Good. I didn’t win, but I finished top ten… just… So, good.” Draco paused, “but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh?” Gavin waited.

“There’s someone… I’ve met someone…”

“Harry.” Gavin added.

“How’d you know?”

“You say his name on occasion.”

“I do not, do I?” Draco was dumbfounded.

“You do.”

“Why haven’t you said anything. Or…”

“Why do I keep fucking you?.. You’re a good lay, Malfoy, and I like your company.”

Draco laughed, “I like you too. I think I’m going to miss you.”

“Well, I’m here if you get bored.” Gavin was teasing him now.

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s in the cards.”

“Good for you, really… I’ll see you in a couple of weeks? You coming to Abruzzo?”

“I’ll be there.”

 

\------^^^^-------

 

The next day an unknown number flashed on Draco's phone. It was Harry. Harry kept calling, and Draco called Harry, too, and they made plans followed by more plans. Draco came to England every month, and Harry came to visit him, as well.

A year after they began, Harry met Draco at the airport.

“I have some news.” Harry said, looking unsure.

“Oh?”

“I quit the Aurors.”

“Oh…” Draco looked at Harry “What are you going to do next?”

“I have no idea. I was hoping I could spend time with you?”

Draco broke into a huge smile and pulled Harry in to a shamelessly enthusiastic kiss.

“All the time you want… And, I can show you the world, you know.”

“Good. Can we start now?”

“Absolutely, where would you like to go first?”

 


End file.
